


Time, Mr Potter

by GeovanniLuciano



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27401107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeovanniLuciano/pseuds/GeovanniLuciano
Summary: From a desolate future an aged Harry Potter is given the chance to travel through time, and takes it.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Time, Mr. Potter**

**Godric’s Hollow 2125, May 02**

Harry Potter stood at the grave site of his departed family. He was the last of the Potter family surrounded by the markers of all those that came before and after him. Despite a typical rainy afternoon, he stood here amidst ghosts of his past, and a constant drizzle of typical English weather.

Harry was alone, and had been so for decades upon decades. He couldn’t recall, in fact, when he had last seen another living person. He had taken to simply existing day to day. It was on days like today which called him to reflect upon his distant past.

Honestly, Harry had no concept of how long he had spent standing here. This was a ritual that he performed once a year. Not a ritual of spells, nor incantations, but more so habit of a very old man whom had come to this location only once a year.  
It wasn’t the memories of his past that haunted him, or the ghosts of the past. There were more his actions that he had taken, and what he had failed to do, mostly for himself. Standing before his wife’s tombstone, now, he searched his memory on what had possessed him to do it. To commit a life to her was just what he had done, but he wondered if it were due to love of her or more of a sense that it was something that had been expected.  
As their marriage had gone on the excitement of the new faded to routine, and before long they had barely seen each other with the exception of passing one another in route of their daily lives. Absence, he thought may have made the heart grow stronger in storybooks, but to throw oneself into work as he did was more avoidance than anything else.

Stepping away from his wife’s grave he moved to the children. He honestly had tried to be a good father in his opinion, at least at first. If he were honest with himself, his avoidance of his wife by burying himself in his work led to avoidance of the children, as well. He was a shite dad, he knew that. He had blatantly favored James as his first born. His treatment of Albus had been the worst. Not that he, himself, had any shining examples of parental figures in his life, but Harry had prime examples of what not to do with raising your children in both Vernon and Petunia. He just chose to ignore that route entirely.

At first, these trips held quite a bit of one sided conversations on his part. Mostly in attempts to unburden his soul of the troubles that had plagued him. When the years turned into decades and then multiplied, the same ritual devolved into silent contemplation. There was sadness, of course. How could there not be when a man outlives his wife and children? However, his focus had changed from the loss that he felt into more remembrance of the better times he had experienced. Quite frankly, there was nothing more for him to say in the matter. In the later years, that ritual had become more a routine in a sense of obligation, and means to mark the passage of…  
“Time, Mr. Potter.” A young sounding male voice said off in the distance.

Harry Potter had heard the voice from his distant past, turned his head towards the newcomer, and nodded in acknowledgement that he recognized he was no longer alone. He also was no longer the young man he once was. It had been many years since he had heard a voice that wasn’t his own, and many more years since he had heard that particular voice. To say that he was shocked to hear that voice, and it sounding exactly as it had nearly 80 years since he had last been in close proximity of its owner would be putting it mildly.

“Wounds all heal, Mr. Yoda. Keep your pants on, and show some respect for the dead!” The aged last Potter scion replied using the counter phrase, as he turned from the grave of his late family, as he turned to take in the interloper.

He was just as he remembered the Unspeakable to be standing at the entry gates of the Godric’s Hollow cemetery. Taking a firmer hold of his trusted cane to steady his journey to meet this long awaited guest, he shuffled onward.

“Took you long enough. Wrong turn at Birmingham?” Harry quipped dripping with sarcasm as he made it to the entry gates.

“The last we talked, Mr. Potter, I had assigned you a task. A rather cumbersome one, but it was assigned nonetheless. Have you achieved the desired results?” The Unspeakable inquired from beneath his shadowed hood.

“Much good it’ll do me. In case it has escaped your notice, I’ve long since left my prime years well and truly behind me.”

“Your twilight years are not the concern at the moment, only the task that was assigned.” The Unspeakable said plainly, walking towards Mr. Potter, and before Harry could retort, he added. “Take my arm, Mr. Potter. As I stated when I arrived, it is time.”

It was a familiar squeeze that Harry found himself experiencing when they blinked out of existence. However, he wasn’t quite prepared for the added pressure of bullying through very extensive wards, but that is exactly what they did. When they re-appeared, he wasn’t expecting to find himself in complete and total darkness having last been in the light of midday.

“Lumos!” The Unspeakable incanted, and the pitch black nothingness was illuminated to reveal the Hall of Prophecies deep within what Harry Potter had assumed was the destroyed Department of Mysteries inside the Ministry of Magic.

“How is this possible?” Harry inquired.  
“Level Nine survived. Everything above us was destroyed. Now, don’t doddle, Mr. Potter. We’ve much to cover. Follow me.” The Unspeakable said plainly, and with purpose headed towards the door.

Rather than simply walk through the door, the Unspeakable paused at it briefly, raised his hand, and placed his open palm against its frame. Harry was taken aback when he then opened the door to find a small classroom which housed only two desks, one a position for a student, the other at the head of the classroom. The Unspeakable walked quickly to the head of the classroom, with a swish of his robes very reminiscent of the late Severus Snape, sat behind his desk, and pointed towards the other desk clearly indicating to Harry that he should follow the other’s example.

“Mr. Potter, you’ve had approximately eighty years to complete the tasks that I have set for you. This is where I will assess whether or not that assignment was completed to my satisfaction. This will in no way be easy.”

“Mr. Yoda…” Harry started, and saw that the Unspeakable wanted to interject, so, he quickly moved on. “I am by no means a young man. I’ve lived a very long life in pursuit of this task. I’ve studied in depth on a great many things. I’ve collected knowledge from a wide variety of sources. There haven’t been that many distractions to keep me off task. While there certainly aren’t witches or wizards around, their possessions that were left behind did aid me in attaining knowledge that I wouldn’t have gained otherwise. I reckon that I have the knowledge, but I don’t believe that I am long for this world.” Harry said, finally with a rasp in his voice and a deep sigh.

The Unspeakable acknowledged this statement. He took out his wand, and conjured a single glass. He stood, reached for the already prepared pitcher sitting on the edge in the corner of his desk, and filled the glass before standing and carrying it to his guest.

“Drink up, Mr. Potter, testing will commence upon my return.” The Unspeakable said, reassuringly.

He crossed the room back to the door, and as he did so he heard the glass crash upon the floor. Turning quickly around he found Harry passed out on the floor, the contents on the glass already starting to work.

**Department of Mysteries 2125, May 07**

Harry opened his eyes to find himself in a bed with crisp linen sheets. The room was white, and sterile. Obviously it was a medical wing of some sort. He could see the room quite clearly which was odd. There were wires attached to him here and there, keeping a proper record of his vital statistics. The soft beeping of the machine recording his heart rate was sounding regularly indicating no reason for alarm. That alarmed him, but that wasn’t the only thing which did.

Harry Potter for as long as he could recall had always required the aid of eyeglasses if he had wanted to see anything at all. The room he was in came to him unaided, and in perfect clarity. Harry, adjusted himself in the bed to sit up, and that is when he received his second shock. His old and quite frail body was lacking his usual aches and pains that he had lived with for the latter forty years of his long life. The age spots that littered his arms and hands were also quite gone. The skin that he could see on his hands and arms was unblemished, and it’s once thinness was full once again with vitality, and apparent youth.

Quickly, Harry detached himself from the wires, and rose out of bed. He noticed a full length mirror in the corner of the room, and caught a reflection in it. What he saw there seemed to be a stranger. Staring back from the mirror appeared to be a young man of no more than 25 years of age. He resembled what Harry remembered himself to have looked like only vaguely.

Harry had never had a good child life growing up with his aunt and uncle. The limited and infrequent meals that he received whilst under their tender mercies had stunted his growth. As an adult at the approximate age similar to what the mirror had revealed, Harry was a meager 5’5” tall, and quite rail thin. What he saw, now, was a stark contrast to that. Instead of the short stature, the person in the mirror stood closer to six feet tall, and rather than emaciated, he looked to be closer to nearly 13 stones.

“Ah, I see you’ve finally awakened, Mr. Potter. Good on you. I think a spot of breakfast is in order, and then perhaps we can resume where we left off. Also, I do believe that we can leave any further excuses of your advanced years behind us. We’ve much to do, and very soon you’ve places to be. Come along, now.”

“But how?”

“We’ll get to your questions soon enough. Just into the next room, now. Come along.” The Unspeakable said beneath his cowl before exiting the infirmary.

Harry followed his benefactor into the next room, and it was immediately apparent that he was now standing in a small and comfortable dining hall. Place set for two, and a full English breakfast already hot and ready at the table. Feeling a rumble in his stomach, now, he immediately took a seat, and tucked in voraciously.

When the Unspeakable sat down to eat he reached up and removed the cowl of his grey cloak revealing his appearance for the first time. He appeared to be a young man of 25 years of age, much like Harry himself. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. Were he to be out amongst a crowd, Harry felt that he would very easily blend in with any crowd. He thought that to be a very useful skill considering the cloak-and-dagger associated with the Department of Mysteries. Having pondered this in a split second, Harry once more dove into his breakfast.

Clearing his throat, the Unspeakable spoke up for the first time. “You have questions not pertaining to your assigned task, Mr. Potter. You may ask your questions, now before we adjourn to the classroom following breakfast.”

“Okay, who are you? Why am I here? What is the point of this?” Harry rapidly fired off.

“Well, Mr. Potter, as I’m sure that you have guessed, I am quite a bit older than I appear, as are you. As for my name, I’ve been known by quite a few of them as would anyone who has lived as long as I have. Before the decimation I was last known as Nicholas Flamel. As an Unspeakable, My codename was Croaker. However, my first name; the name that I was born with, was Nicodamus Peverell. I am the patriarch of the Peverell family and the father of the famous three brothers from the children’s story. You sir, are my sole remaining descendant. You are here because you asked me to come. You botched up the final line of your prophecy when you decided that existing was a better option. Before you start, the line I am referring to is ‘Neither can live while the other survives.’ You did not live before you asked for the assistance of the Department of Mysteries. In fact, after the fall of Tom Marvolo Riddle, you did exactly as others expected you to do. You joined the Aurors, married Ginevra Molly Weasley and fathered three children with her. Your existence was rather boring considering. Until the revelation of Delphini’s rather odd origin story, subsequent incarceration, and eventually taking of her own life whilst a resident of Azkaban. You are here, Mr. Potter, for another chance at life. You are here to complete your task, be tested, and then we shall move forward by moving back. Now, before you has, there will be no replacing your old self with your current memories. You’ll not be going back to be Harry Potter. You’ve already botched that life up completely and thoroughly. However, you will be tested. The results of those test shall determine the path we take. You may address me as Nick. I am sure that you have many other questions. We can address those after your task evaluation. ”

The look of incredulity on Harry’s face as he sat across from Nick listening to him raptly. Nick had been correct about his life, albeit succinctly. He really did just go with the flow, and meander through his life until the decimation had occurred. Delphini had truly been a devastating blow to him. To find her name on the tapestry in the Black Ancestral home was expected. What hadn’t been expected was to find her name beneath Bellatrix Lestrange and not Tom Marvolo Riddle, but himself. Blood of the enemy forcibly taken had worse consequences than initially thought, retrospectively. His name had been blasted off the tapestry by none other than his wife Ginny without his knowledge. Its discovery had led to their largest rows, and eventually divorce, which was unheard of in the wizarding world.

Having finished his breakfast, Harry waited patiently for Nick to finish his, which didn’t take long. That ferocious appetite was something that they had in common, now, it seems. Nick stood up immediately followed by Harry, they walked back into what Harry had assumed to be the classroom only to find that it had been replaced by a room with a couple of rather comfortable looking chairs, a pensieve, and a large display screen.

“Now, Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to extract your memory, and place it in the bowl.” Nick asked.

Harry walked over to the pensieve, removed his wand, and placed it to his temple before a look of confusion overcame his face. He looked over at Nick, and asked, “Which memory?”

“Why all of them. I’m going to need a full analysis. Place your non-wand hand on the bowl while extracting the memory. It shall assist you in this endeavor. Harry did as he was asked. What he hadn’t expected was that once his non-wand hand had touched the bowl, he completely blanked out.

**Department of Mysteries 2125, May 31  
**

Harry awoke sitting in the comfortable chair he had noticed what was to him only moments ago. He found himself in what was the very same room although in place of where the displace screen was sat a familiar desk, and behind it sat Nick scribbling furiously.

“It’s good to see you finally awake, again, Mr. Potter. We have much to discuss.” Nick said, rising from his seat, and taking a seat in an identical comfortable chair to Harry’s direct across from him. “As you might have guessed the pensieve that we have used is quite unique. What you may not have known, but I will tell you, now, is that it put you into a stasis of sorts while I reviewed your memories. During that time you were in a dreamless sleep, so; for you it should have felt like no time had passed. Onward, I reviewed your life, fast forwarded to the pertinent parts, ignored the mundane, the banal, and the decided boring x rated. For the record, Mr. Potter, I don’t know how you put up with Mrs. Potter for so long. I’m getting off track. The one thing I don’t understand with you considering how much that you’ve thoroughly enjoyed cooking even in times where you loathed those for whom you have been tasked to do so is your complete and total mediocrity in the science of Potions. However, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration are the tasks at hand. Those tasks have been reviewed. Considering the rather large sums of time that you’ve invested in these crafts, I find you to be completely adequate. Your understanding of Technomancy, while not on the Hogwarts; or any British curriculum, is to be commended.”

He weighed the next part of the conversation very heavily. There were things in Harry’s past that had been removed, many times. Albus had been rather heavy handed with the obliviations in regards to Harry’s upbringing, and his time with the Dursley family was spotty for Harry at best. He was abused. That hadn’t been deniable at all. His abuse was abhorrent living conditions when there should have been no need for it. His abuse had been a complete and total lack of affection. He was worked hard and with the minimum amount of care provided. He had been frequently starved. With the exception of only a few beatings, and the lone frying pan incident by his aunt Petunia, physical interaction had been nil. The friendship and initial introduction with the Weasley family at platform 9 ¾ had been an obvious orchestration on the part of Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore, as well, and considering where Harry would eventually end up, this is something that he had to consider; but first, best to rip it off quickly like a bandage.

“Mr. Potter, with me if you will.” You need to draw your memory back up into yourself, now.” Nick said, rising and walking back over to the pensieve. As Harry did as instructed, Nick quickly amended, and added. “However, there made be a slight… side effect.”

Pain. It was immense and disorientating as if being born for a second time in drawing this much memory back into himself. It was like reliving his life all over again. Each memory played out in almost an instant, and with that it filled in the blanks. Things that he felt were unimportant, and had chosen to forget had been overlaid, and reinforced. Every thought, every action remembered. Every single thing that Harry had ever experienced had become eidetic including everything that he was ever made to forget. He remembered, now. He remembered it all.

“That was intense!” Harry finally gasped.

“Very rarely had we ever used a pensieve in quite this manner. With this many memories, Mr. Potter, it is a good thing that you’re a proficient Occlumens. You’ll need some time to re-assimilate the knowledge. We’ll reconvene in the morning, and have a planning session on how we shall proceed.”

Nick stood and walked towards the only exit. As he had done in previous times, he placed his hand on the doorway briefly before opening, and then left the room.

**Department of Mysteries 2125, July 31  
**

Before long nearly two months had passed by. While Harry’s body had been de-aged, and healed from the neglect and abuse that he had suffered from all of his long life, he needed time to, both, get used to the changes the Elixir of life had wrought upon his body, and to get into a more active routine. Rule #1, he realized, was that Wizards and Witches always relied heavily upon magic to do almost absolutely everything whereas the normal folks; or Muggles, didn’t have the luxury. That luxury over an extended lifetime made for a very out of shape person regardless if the potion’s healing properties.

Harry considered the past two months to have been a boot camp like one might experience if you were to sign up to be a member of the military without the usual weapons training. He rose up every morning well before the sun did. He ate a quick and hearty breakfast. He then proceeded to apparate to Hogwarts, or the former site of Hogwarts. The building, of course, was still there, but it had long since been empty of people and as a repository for learning.

Harry stretched before he began his daily calisthenics of pushups, sit ups, and jumping jacks. This was always what he started with and did so until his muscles in his arms, chest, and abdomen were burning with exhaustion. After a brief recovery, Harry then proceeded to run his route around the black lake.

Now, the route around the lake was arduous in and of itself. However, Harry added to it. Having wanted a true military-like experience he added obstacles to this route. Felling and chopping trees was tedious, but not overly difficult. He had the obstacles constructed and ready to go but it took all of the first day, and the magic sufficient left him drained.

For the most part, he ran quite a bit, dodging and leaping things along his path. His sole intent wasn’t to gain a large amount of muscle and turn himself into something more cumbersome. This effort was simply to get himself quickly, efficiently, and through effort acclimated to his body. Through hard work and without the aid of magic, his endurance of the physical had increased, both, his strength and time along the path around the lake.

At this very moment, he had just finished his final of five laps around the lake, which found him lying flat on his stomach, breathing deeply. His thoughts drifted towards memories of a very vivid dream he had the night prior.

For the first time in his long life he dreamt of life with his family. Not his wife or children, but his first family. Now, having his memories intact, he remembered his time before that fate filled night of 1981 October 31st. His mum and dad were front and center stage. The Marauders were ever present, as well. What he hadn’t expected to remember was a small girl of no more than six or seven years old always present with him as soon as she walked into their house in Godric’s Hollow. Harry knew who this little girl was, of course. How could he not recognize her rabidly changing hair or joyous persona.

What he hadn’t expected when he had first got his memories back, however, was the frequency by which she had been ever-present. What he hadn’t expected was to remember was that as often as she would switch out here hair color that he, too, would mirror her changes just as rapidly. He, too, was a metamorphmagus; an ability to change one’s body through force of will. That ability inherited from his father’s maternal side of the family,

“I promise, little prince, I’ll love you, and take care of you every day. We’ll have such fun. Wait and see. You believe me, of course, don’t you?” She had whispered into his little ears. While he understood her very well, at fifteen months old his ability to convey that understanding was lacking in communication. So, he simply nodded his little head, reaching out for her and squealed her name in between a fit of giggles, “Nym!”

In a hushed voice barely above that of a whisper Nymphadora Tonks, a young girl of only just eight years old looked lovingly into his wondrous eyes and seriously spoke four words that, both, haunted him and woke him up immediately, “So mote it be.”

“Time, Mr. Potter.” Nick’s voice sounded behind him. Turning his head and looking towards the man, he squinted up at him before lifting himself up off of the ground. “We’ve spent enough of it in the here, and now. Time to collect your things.”


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

** London, England Ministry of Magic – Department of Mysteries **

Harry… no, Henry. His name was Henry Nicodaemus Peverell, now. He had to remember that. It had been that for such a long time despite only just deciding to start using it as a form of address. That was the dirty little secret of the Potter family. They had always been the Peverell family, at least a part of it, and the knowledge of that part had been lost in time. 

He had spent years upon years in the shadows. Before he had left, Nick had called him back to the Department of Mysteries to discuss travel plans. Nick had taken the liberty of packing a seven compartment trunk for him. He had really left nothing to chance. 

Nick had packed all of his equipment from Potter Manor in Godric’s Hollow, and taken the liberty of even venturing into the abandoned; and previously thought collapsed tunnels of Gringott’s bank liberating more coins that he had previously thought that he had access to. At the time of initial departure, Henry hadn’t been aware of any of this. Nick had simply handed him a moleskin pouch, a letter, instructed him to place it around his neck, and to read the instruction letter within once he arrived at his first initial location.

He was left aghast when he was then led to the Death Chamber. Wanting to protest, at first, he watched in utter fascination as Nick approached the veil. At his approach the veil parted like a curtain, something that it had not done the previous time during his fifth year of Hogwarts that he had been in this room all those many years ago. Before he could raise questions at this occurrence, a dais formed beneath Nick’s feet, and a lectern; of sorts, in front of him with a control panel imbedded in it. Nick moved a few nobs here and there and from between the curtains emitted a brilliant flash before he saw into what appeared to be a view into the very room he stood from a different angle.

The room he saw was the same, as stated, but occupied whereas the one he and Nick occupied was long abandoned. Before he could voice his first of many questions, his thoughts were interrupted by Nick’s urgent voice.

“No time, your name is Henry Nicodaemus Peverell. You’re an Unspeakable, codename Lazarus. Pull up your hood, Mr. Peverell. Instructions are in the letter, and there are a few items within your moleskin pouch to aid you on your journey. Good luck to you, and see you on the other side.” Nick quickly had said.

Henry felt no displacement or any other odd sensation has he stepped through the archway. It had simply felt as if he had crossed across the room walking through the archway. Upon reaching the other side of the archway, he paused. That pause was to take in the mass of people, when thinking that a group of ten or so being a mass. The weight of their presence pushed on his boundaries that he was unaware that he had, but the fact of the matter was that aside from Nick, these were the first people that he had seen in a very long time. The sense of shock and awe was evident in the other Unspeakables in the room initially, both upon seeing the veil activate, and seeing him emerge from within, however, they immediately came to ease upon seeing a familiar grey cloak of their fellows.

Henry wasn’t even stopped as he made his way from the Death Chamber to the adjacent offices. He simply took the nearest empty one available before closing the door behind him, taking a seat behind the desk within the room, and quickly opening the letter that Nick had given him before his departure and reading it.

_Henry,_

_I have a few tasks that I need for you to complete here before moving ahead to your next destination._

_First, we need to get you established in this here and now. All your long hard work is going to pay off. In the moleskin pouch you’re carrying you will finish a few things of importance, but for the first task you’ll want to concern yourself with is the envelope. Inside you’ll find there your identification for the identity of Henry Nicodaemus Peverell, educational certifications. Your first task is the visit the Wizarding Educational Authority, here at the Ministry for Magic, and present your certifications for registration. It will also be prudent to use this time wisely to register your animagus form._

_Afterwards, a quick trip to Gringott’s bank to reactivate the Peverell account, and deposit the entire contents from compartment seven within your trunk into the account. There is also the matter of the Peverell family ring. I’ve taken the liberty of creating a new one utilizing your warding runic matrix imbedded inside the stone itself. It’ll present itself as proof enough that you are whom you claim to be should you find yourself in need to do so with the added benefits you’ve come to rely on while at home._

_Finally, after business is concluded, I’ve provided a portkey to my family home. Come here once your business is concluded._

_Sincerely,_

_Nick_

So, he trotted off and received a bit of a shock upon entering the Educational Authority office. Behind the desk in the small office sat a young lady whom looked to be extremely close to be near his apparent age. That was, in no way, unusual. However, what was rather disconcerting to him was the name placard atop her desk which announced her name as being, in fact, Griselda Marchbanks. 

The young lady sat behind her desk quite engrossed into what appeared to be the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. What brought to her attention that she was no longer alone in her office wasn’t the fact that he had entered into said room, but the startled gasp from Henry when he glanced upon the issue date of the paper being 1900, January 14.

“Oh! You’ve given me quite the fright, sir.” Madam Marchbanks exclaimed, clearly started.

“My apologies, Madam Marchbanks?” Henry stated questioningly towards her.

“That’s me. So sorry, but how can I be of assistance to you, Mister?”

“Peverell.” Henry stated, and this caused Griselda’s eyebrows to shoot up into her hairline immediately.

“Are you really a Peverell? We’ve not had any Peverell registered with Hogwarts in my lifetime.”

“Henry Peverell, and yes, I am. Our family tends to shy away from the public life. I’ve been abroad for a while, and privately tutored. I’ve only just come to register my results with the WEA.” Henry said while handing over his paperwork which she readily accepted.

“Oh, dear Merlin! Nicholas Flamel! Tutored by Nicholas Flamel!“ Madam Marchbanks exclaimed excitedly.

“I am aware.” Henry stated plainly, and with a smirk.

“Cheeky bugger, too.” Marchbanks stated with a smirk of her own. “Mr. Peverell, Professor Tofty is currently away at lunch, but I will pass along your paperwork to him, personally. I’m still only just a junior examiner, so the paperwork will be finalized by him.”

“Excellent. Would you be good enough to owl me, once that is done. That would be greatly appreciated, Madam Marchbanks."

"Yes, of course, dear fellow.” She quickly answered.

“One more thing. Would you be ever so kind as to direct me to the Animagus Registration office? One does have to do one’s duty and register.” Henry stated.

“It is on the third level. Take a right off of the lifts and it will be the last door on the left. She stated automatically.

“Thank you very much for all of your assistance, Madam Marchbanks. Good day!”

“My pleasure, Mr. Peverell. Good day to you, as well.”

Henry didn’t need directions at all. Wizards and witches were creatures of habit, and tradition. Things are in the Ministry as they have been for a very long time chiefly because change was a concept alien to them. If it is not broken, there is no need to fix it, nevermind that this mentality was exactly that which had been broken in the Ministry in perpetuity until its eventual collapse more than one hundred years from now.

Henry made his way, registered his animagus form with little fuss with the exception of his name, yet again. Afterwards, making his way to the Atrium, and then the exit proved to be uneventful.

What wasn’t uneventful was the raw awe striking appearance of London as he exited the public lavatories to the sites of still horse drug carriages with the occasional automobile thrown in here and there in the name of progress. Before making a full exit, he did hold back long enough to quickly transfigure his attire to more closely resemble that of which he had observed of passer’s by. 

It took him no more than twenty minutes to make the ten or so blocks from Whitehall to Charing Cross, and then a quick jaunt before entering the familiarity of the Leaky Cauldron. He did so on autopilot. The pub, much like the Ministry of Magic looked only slightly different than what he had remembered, and that was solely in the table placement and faces that occupied said seats.

After pressing a very familiar sequence of bricks the back room of The Leaky Cauldron revealed the entrance to Diagon Alley. Diagon did not look different in appearance with the exception of the names of the stores with the exception of only one. Olivander’s Wand Shop was present. Henry only assumed that middle aged man sitting behind the counter within the store that he spied upon in passing had to be Garrick’s father. He didn’t enter, however, being on a quest for an ancient so he trudged forward to Gringott’s Bank just ahead.

Gringott’s Bank was, as ever, the central focal point for all of Diagon Alley. A glaring white marble structure which was visible no matter where you stood. In front on either side of the entry way stood two goblin centurion guards standing at attention and brandish mean looking spears almost daring the wizards and witches to start trouble. However, it was the look of boredom in their eyes which spoke the utter lack of challenge that never came day after mundane day in spite of their surliness.

Henry approached the entrance without so much of an acknowledgement that those same two guards were even there. On entering the bank, he noticed it was rather empty, and approached the first available teller. The wait was supposed to seem excruciating, making the seconds feel like hours. To Henry, the disdain that came from the goblins behind the counters was more foreboding than the looming silence of the building itself. The goblin before him wasn’t at all occupied with anything. 

Henry cleared his throat in an attempt to get the goblin’s attention. That proved highly ineffectual. While he was sure that he was successful in garnering attention, the goblin remained stoic as if he heard nothing. This may or may not have, in fact, irritated Henry mildly. Mildly may have been, in fact, an underassessment, however. Tapping his toe, shifting his hip side to side, even stretching with the associated popping of, both, knuckles and vertebrate from S5 to C1 gained him nothing. Suddenly, and without warning Henry started singing at a rather low volume an altogether not so random song to pass to pass the time.

_“You remind me of the babe.”_

_“What babe?”_

_“The babe with the power.”_

_“What power?”_

_“The power of Voodoo.”_

_“Who do?”_

_“You do!”_

_“Do What?”_

_“Remind me of the babe.”_

“Next!” Finally the goblin tiring of the verse said, clearly getting agitated.

Smirking at the nervous twitch the goblin desk jockey had developed, Henry cautiously approached the desk while briefly continuing to hum the tune to himself. Taking an equally excruciatingly long time to traverse the ten or so feet between where he had been waiting in a line of one to cross to the desk to converse with what was now becoming a more and more increasingly irate and listless goblin bank teller. Upon reaching the front of the queue, Henry did nothing. He said nothing. He reached for nothing. He simply stood in front of the goblin and smiled at him, and this did nothing for the disposition of the goblin who finally broke the silence.

“What do you want, human wizard?” The irritation was in no way masked, and an underlying tone of implied threat was clear in his voice.

“A pint and a nice shepherd’s pie would be lovely right about now. I am getting a bit peckish.” Henry answered back

“Gringotts does not cater to wizarding eating habits.” The goblin stated heatedly.

“Obviously, otherwise you would be grossly under-tipped for lack of prompt service” Was Henry’s retorted. 

“Well, I don’t have all day, wizard.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you from wasting my time, earlier. I need to inquire about an inactive family account, get it reactivated with access for myself, and make a deposit into the same account. ” Henry immediately answered back.

“Name on the account?”

“Peverell.”

“Identification!” The goblin asked blandly while reaching beneath his desk and bringing into the open a small knife, bowl, and a slip of parchment. Henry took the knife, quickly pricked his finger, and placed the prerequisite drops of blood into the bowl. “One moment, please.”

The goblin removed the bowl, stepped away from his desk, and walked off of the floor leaving Henry again to wait in the silence of the bank. It was only a few minutes before the unnamed goblin returned with an oddly familiar face.

“Mr. Peverell, allow me to introduce to you Ragnok, the senior account manager for the Peverell accounts.” The previously unnamed goblin teller stated.

“Accounts?” I only wanted to re-open the one. What is this about accounts, Ragnok?” Henry inquired.

“The Peverell accounts are three, Mr. Peverell. The main account of which you inquired. The Potter account, and the Gaunt account. All are under the umbrella of the Peverell accounts. Are you with me so far?” Ragnok inquired.

“Yes…” Henry answered, but was quickly cut off as Ragnok continued.

“Good. The Gaunt account is currently in default in the amounts of one hundred thousand galleons. It has been in this state for more than 50 years. The Gaunt family had lost all of their wealth and property with the exception of a shack in village of Little Hangleton. The value of the property is negligible and with the exception of a couple of personal keepsakes the family has nothing of value. The Potter accounts, however, are currently well maintained and in the control of Henry Potter, the current lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.”

“Negligible?”

“They have a rather large plot of land in the village of Little Hangleton, however there is only just the shack in which they live. The rest of it is undeveloped. The original Gaunt manor fell into disrepair to the point of being uninhabitable. Not that the shack they call home is not only just livable. We’ve had the property assessed and marked as a lost cause with the exception of demolition of the structure, and rebuilding.”

“I’ll consider it. I’ll have to make it a point of setting aside some time to meet with the Gaunts to see if the idea bears merit. For now, I’d just like to re-establish the Peverell accounts, make a deposit, and look towards worthwhile investments.”

With that being said, Henry reached into the collar of his shirt to pull out the moleskin bag that he kept there on a simple silver chain necklace. After untying it, it quickly retrieved his seven compartment trunk, enlarged it, and stepped inside.

There were a total of seven compartments within the trunk, but once inside the trunk the compartments were really just individually numbered room. Once inside, Henry crossed the main compartment towards a doorway clearly marked “No. Seven”. Stepping inside, he was surprised to see that this room was rather small and only contained yet another trunk. When attempting to shrink it down further to pocket, he was shocked to see that it would not; in fact, get any smaller. So, he simple picked up the trunk, swung shut the door to the compartment with his foot, lumbered back up the stairs, and back into the office where Ragnok had been waiting on him.

“Mr. Peverell, the main Peverell account fell into disuse more than six hundred years ago, I’m afraid. With exception of paperwork listing ownership of real property, I’m afraid that the bank vault lies empty.”

“Well, we’ll remedy that now, shan’t we?”

“Indeed.”

After Henry left the office, business being concluded, Ragnok pressed a call button on his desk.

“Yes, your highness?” A much younger goblin spoke up from the doorway.

“The Peverell deposit.” He stated simply, looking at the junior goblin square in the eye. Upon seeing his nod confirming that he was indeed listening. “ Melt every last coin, re-mint them, and deposit them in his account. Is that understood, Account Manager Ripclaw?”

“Yes, your highness!” The younger goblin stated firmly, understanding immediately that he had been given a promotion for bring in this client.

** Rue de Montemorency, Paris, France **

The buildings along the street loomed over Henry. Were he a man so inclined to claustrophobia, looking up would have leant towards a feeling that the street could swallow you up whole. The street was very narrow, and the buildings on either side were oddly five and sometimes six stories. Looking at the street sign which indicated he was on the Rue de Montemorency, he immediately knew that he was, both, in France and on the correct path to the home of Nicholas Flamel.

Now, standing outside of No. 52 he noticed that it blended in seamlessly into the surrounding buildings, although quite older. The bell attached to the door announced his entrance and mere moments later a woman bearing a striking resemblance to his own mother entered the room.

“Ignotius? Mon Dieu, c'est toi?” Perenelle exclaimed after a myriad of emotions, joy, hope, fear, realization, loss, and finally confusion flitted across her face as tears welled and spilt down her cheeks.

“Non, mon amour. Ce n'est pas notre fils.” Nick said, coming from behind her and wrapping her in a gentle hug. “Please forgive my wife, the resemblance is rather uncanny, young Henry.”

“How did you know?” Henry asked, breaking his eyes away from Mrs Flamel for a moment, looking at Nick questioningly.

“That is a rather long conversation that can be briefly surmised by saying that you are not the first to travel a rather long distance through the portal hidden deep within the Department of Mysteries that I have come across, however, it has never been without my knowledge.”

“Nicholas, you’re being quite rude. Introduce our guest.” Perenelle admonished.

“Forgive me, Henry Nicodaemus Peverell allow me to introduce you to my wife, Perenelle Flamel.”

“Peverell!” Perenelle quickly turned to Nick, with a look of shock and anger flashing in her eyes. “But that name has disappeared hundreds of years ago. What have you done, Nicholas?”

“He is, or was, the last of us.” Nick said resigned, and sighing deeply. 

“Explain!” Perenelle demanded.

“That is definitely in order. Perhaps we can do so in the sitting room?”

“That is fine, but I will have my explanation.” She finished exasperatedly before walking into the sitting room.

Nick sighed, motioned for Henry to follow, and proceeded to follow his wife.

“Now, Nicholas; or considering our present company, Nicodaemus, I will have my explanation, now.”

Explain he did. Perenelle did not once interrupt his tale. Over the course of a little over an hour there were many looks that she had cast Henry’s way that varied between that of horror, surprise, pity, and pride. When the tale was finally complete, and all of Nicodaemus’s cards were laid on the table as it were. she had finally understood the reasoning behind his decision to send Henry to this time. She found herself agreeing with his decision, but that was something that was almost always the case.

It was then that Nick took out his wand and summoned his pensieve to the room, pulled out a vial that clearly contained memories, and dumped them inside. He motioned to, both, his wife and Henry, and without a word they entererd and viewed them.

There were quite a lot of them, and before he could ask a question, thinking that it was over, the next memory seamlessly began. What Henry noticed was that they had always concluded in the Department of Mysteries. That was not what was odd about them, however. All of these memories involved him in particular. He hadn’t even considered meddling with time at this point. However, what had been apparent was that this wasn’t the first time that Nick had ventured into this gambit to save the last of his line.

There were many different scenarios that had taken place all along the time lines. Each and every time had disasterous consequences of the timeline further upstream. At the conclusion, once that all of the memories had played out, Henry understood what it was that he could and could not do. He understood that each and every time that he had made a mistake that it was Nick, who had traveled back to the point of origin, reviewed his memories with his past self, and altered the course that he had previously taken to right the course and prevent the calamity.

Henry also knew, immediately, that any plans that he had envisioned for attempting to alter the course of the Gaunt family in any way would immediately be intervened upon by his ancestor. That aside, there were a few things that he was needed for to ensure his timeline. 

Rebuild the Peverell family home in Godric’s Hollow which had long since fell into disrepair and disuse centuries before. Stay out of the limelight. Rock no boats. Blend in with the neighbors. Build a life as Henry, come to the aid of his ancestors; Nicodaemus and Perenelle, and live a life.

** Hogsmeade, Scotland – The Three Broomsticks **

_‘It was just too much.’_ Henry thought to himself. This, being here and everything that went along with it was all too overwhelming. To be surrounded by people and not know a single soul among them despite being in a completely magical environment. To be an anonymous unknown quantity after years of either being deified, loved, and despised. The years spent in solitude had become something that Henry had unfortunately grown accustomed to. 

Henry sat in a booth at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade waiting on his order of Shepherd’s pie while nursing his second fire whiskey, and staring at the slip of paper that Ragnok had given to him. The myriad of people inhabiting the pub only served as background noise, but his focus remain on the slip of paper. There were too many commas, he thought.

When his plate arrived he glanced up and noticed the many faces that were littered throughout the small pub, realization dawned on him that it was a Hogsmeade weekend, and while he was entrenched deep in thought he had completely failed to notice the children whom had trickled inside. 

The once silent room was now filled to overflowing with the happy chittering of Hogwarts children bringing to him memories of his own youthful times here with his friends who were not even a thought in their great grandparent minds. In fact, he’d be willing to bet those same great grandparents were some of the very students that he, now, shared this very room. 

He imbibed in yet another fire whiskey while eating his shepherd’s pie over the next few moments, and noticed a young man whom had entered alone whom he recognized only vaguely as that of one Alberforth Dumbledore. Doing the math quickly in his head, Henry estimated that Alberforth had to be a seventh year, but made no move to cast attention to himself as he left The Three Broomsticks.

Deciding to assess his future living arrangements, Henry disapparated once outside the pub, and appeared in an overgrown field. Looking complete;u around himself in a 360 degree turn about he found himself within the perimeter of a dilapidated crumbled structure.

There were walls, but only in the loosest sense of the word. They outlined the room in which he stood, but completely collapsed on places. Henry couldn’t really call the place a dump because for all intents and purposes it really qualified more as an archaeological dig site. Henry resolved himself to the conclusion that if he were to rebuild the House of Peverell, specifically this house it was much easier to go ahead and clear the site and re-build from scratch.

“Well, shite. Thanks, Nick… Arsehole!” Henry sighed resignedly.


	3. Chapter 3

** 3. **

** Godric’s Hollow, Peverell Estate 11 June 1905 **

The home had been a crumbling shit hole of a house with barely anything left of what had once been home to Nick and Perenelle. Upon deeper inspection of the site, there was something else that was evident. The ruined state that the house had been found in by Henry was not solely due to the ravages of time. In fact, it appears that there was a presence of foreign magic that would aid credence towards the theory that the house was victim of recent vandalism. Henry could only guess that more likely than not someone decided to search the home for the Hallows, and once that quest bore no fruit anger took root and the house took the brunt of their frustration.

After five long years it had finally been completed. That completion came through blood, sweat, and tears from the aches and pains that Henry put into it. Some of that exertion was through his own effort. Most of it was his economic effort and the aid of others.

On this particular morning, the sky was clear. A rare Mid-Spring morning’s sunshine peaked through the flap of the tent beckoned to rise and finish the last of the work on the newly completed home. Stretching languidly was accompanied by a series of anticipated popping noises along the spine and a quite satisfied moan before venturing out of bed looking to begin the morning ritual of sustenance and caffeine. 

But first came personal inspection. This was quite necessary for Henry being an active metamorphmagus; and rather new to the more recently unlocked gift. Why, you may ask, would a man who has lived a life as long as Henry be experiencing difficulty with a gift he was born with even if it were locked for a majority of that life? Yeah, that was rhetorical. While he could consciously control said gift, the unconscious mind frequently got away from him, and more often than not it was any guess what face would appear in the morning during ablutions. 

Looking at the face of Harry Potter, his dad or Sirius Black wasn’t so bad. At least they were the very familiar maleness. That was something that he had a familiarity with, having been born male. The startling points were the first time in which there was a clear and present mocking lack of maleness in his features. Looking in to the face of his mum was absolutely shocking.

However, the worst of these morning wake up calls had been waking to the face that haunted him with shocking pink hair. Oddly enough, waking up looking like her had happened more frequently than any other, however briefly, was accompanied and plagued by the associated clumsiness that she had been cursed with all throughout her life.

Henry had included a cheval glass mirror in the bedroom of his tent, just to inspect the changes he found in the morning, so as to allow a quick change back. Last, there were on my frequent occasions that another face that looked back at him from his mirror. A face very similar to that of her mother, with high cheek bones, haunted hooded emerald green eyes, and hair as white as Hedwig’s soft feathers with exception of the blue tips. On occasions like these, Henry couldn’t change forms quick enough. The heart ache that accompanied it was utterly unbearable.

Today’s unbearable appearance quickly rectified was followed by the ever undying needed pursuit: caffeine. To seek that which sole purpose was to invigorate oneself from the lethargy found in those who have recently awakened. Henry knew this, and was singular in thought when he ventured forth towards this goal.

That pursuit was a short quest outside of his tent into the morning light and the small encampment of other tents to one with no enclosed walls that served as location for the purposes of feed the masses of workers he had hired to help complete the endeavor set at this location of rebuilding the ancestral Peverell home. 

Stepping outside of his tent for the final time, the first thing that Henry caught sight of was the completion of 6 months of a concerted effort. The effort wasn’t on his part with the exception of the financial, that and the wards on the property. However, the house was completed. The property was completed as well. It was not gaudy, nor a grand manor worthy of a Lord of an ancient and noble house, but it was functional and suited what he had anticipated what would be his future needs. Henry also thought that it looked to him what he had always imagined his home would look like.

To the initial first glance from the exterior the house appeared to be a three-story brick home. Upon entry, the first area was the parlor, strictly for visitors. The French doors beyond the parlor had opaque windows that only hinted towards what lie beyond them. Henry had it designed so as to have an area that was clearly only for the very briefest of guests whom would neither be encouraged nor welcome for an extended stay.

Past those doors was a great room. It was completely open concept which included combined dining and kitchen, and another common area, including a fireplace which Henry would at some later undecided date hook up to the floo network. The stairs to the upper level were floating, not by magic, but they were open and deliberately without any sort of storage beneath them, an apparent decision on Henry’s part.

Beyond the kitchen sat three doors. From left to right, door number one led towards the library. Door, actually another set of French doors, lead to the covered back terrace, and the back gardens. Finally, door number three was to his private office.

Up the stairs to the second floor were the first set of living quarters, a set of six separate bedrooms. Each bedroom large enough to qualify as a master bedroom in any other house. They all had their own bathroom. Henry was quite adamant about that. Having grown up on Privett Drive and being forced to share a bathroom with his _relatives_ , as it were, he was quite insistent that should he have another family in the future they wouldn’t have the sharing of the amenities being a source of contention in the house.

The top floor was his own personal space, which housed his bedroom and a rather large and quite separate media room. That was it for the house, and Henry was quite pleased with the end results. It was a long complicated road to get from there to where he stood today.

The tricky part of it all were the trips through time to locate contractors to build the house. His obvious first option was to select builders in the current era. Henry quickly and immediately dismissed this idea, and the reason for that was quite simple. He wanted a muggle functional house with proper and modernized electrical and plumbing that would last the test of time.

So, time travel it was. That being decided, the next question was where and when to search. Also, deciding that he needed either a muggleborn contractors or the parents of a muggleborn or half blood. It was essential to have the in the know of magic, and not necessarily be magical themselves. No need in breaking the statute of secrecy if one could help it.

Henry eventually decided that most supplies needed to rebuild the initial supporting structure of the house could be sourced in the current local time. Oak and pine timber for the support walls, and floors. Bath stone for the exterior walls of the house which were not only sourced at a local quarry, but was present for the pre-existing structure. Henry had decided to forego the traditional thatched roof for a slate tiled roof, and granite for the counter tops in the kitchens and bathrooms.

The most tedious of all the processes was the pain-staking detail that Henry went through in inscribing the proper runes on each brick and tile to be laid. This was something that he had originally designed before coming back in time originally and worked as more or less overkill on both ensuring that the home worked with his centralized warding stone.

He elected to have the drywall, wiring, pipes, insulation, fixtures, lighting, baths, sinks toilets, and appliances sourced from the future when he hired the building crew to complete the job.

Aside from the rune work that he had performed initially, Henry tended to stay out of the way of the construction crew with the exception being meals. He did share meals with them. Aside from that his routine was his own, and he was a creature of habit.

Henry didn’t complete this task all on his own, however. He most certainly had help, and expert help at that. Having access to the archway in the Department of Mysteries was truly a Godsend for Henry. Having the task of rebuilding in this timeline didn’t necessarily mean that Henry had to solely employ workers and developers from this time, but that also didn’t mean that he worked on the task solely with them either.

So, Henry took out an advertisement in the help wanted section in the back of the Daily Prophet and hired a crew of nearly twenty in all. The demolition of the remaining structure honestly could have been completed in a day had Henry the inclination to just obliterate the ancient structure, but Henry had it in his mind that he should be able to recycle and re-use the existing materials.

So, disassembly was a painstaking pain in the arse, but went by much quicker with the help of his crew. Unfortunately it was only the Bath stone bricks that were salvageable. Upon what Henry had initially thought was bringing the house complete down to the foundation he and the crew discovered that not only was there a basement, but it lay undisturbed. 

What lay within were quite a few ingredients for what appeared to be the in between stages of inventions. Many different selections of wood that Henry could only assume were the initial stages of creating what would later become the Elder wand. In the corner lay a loom with baskets of what he had thought may have been demiguise fur and thestral tail hair. Whatever it was, this was obviously the true birthplace of the Hallows.

Discovering it, and later excavating, took a week to have the basement area completely cleaned out, catalogued, and the bricks removed from area. Afterwards, everything was laid bare where once there was a ruin of a home, now stood, or not, a hole where a newly rebuilt house would go.

Henry had all the faith in his crew. They proved themselves in their dedication to the job at hand. However, what he needed was a more modern approach to home building, and he found that by utilizing the archway. 

Henry travelled forward in time in the guise of Lazarus the Unspeakable, located an architect to design the new footprint for the building and hired a construction crew to facilitate the build, all Muggleborn, or closely related to them not to be in breach of the statute of secrecy. This had the added benefit of being able to pay for the job completely in Galleons rather than pound notes.

The weeks that followed were constant meetings with the architect to go over the plans of the development of the property, gathering a list of materials which could be sourced locally in the current time frame, and materials that were better suited in that of the architect. Once gaining his shopping list, Henry, rushed off to procure every item, having it packaged, loaded up in shipping container which he shrunk and pocketed for his return.

After that? Well, they rebuilt the house, didn’t they? It took more than a few months to get it sorted, and built. The dual timeline crews lived on the property in a makeshift tent city of sorts while under construction, but in the end they worked together, slept together, and got it done. 

Once completed, Henry paid the locals quite a bit more handsomely than he did that of those whom he had displaced through time. For those who had remained to be paid, he escorted them to Gringott’s, opened an account for each of them, and deposited one thousand galleons with instructions for the bank to invest the money wisely over the next few decades. This was by no means thought to be an exuberant sum for an investiture of time that spanned 5 years, but it had been agreed upon by what remained of the construction crew. Of course, that was accompanied by a non-disclosure agreement signed with a dreaded blood quill.

Once that business was concluded, hands were shaken, back patted, and thank you’s were exchanged enthusiastically. Henry found himself standing in front of the home with the mission to complete his task. 

With purpose, he entered his home through the front entry way , made his way into the hidden ward room with the confines of the finished basement and installed the ward’s heart stone. Upon installation there was a flash of ethereal light which came; at once, and standing in the middle of room with Henry appeared a familiar young lady.

“Where am I?” The startled feminine voice exclaimed worriedly, as she surveyed the scene around her. She looked exactly as Henry had remembered her from rescuing him during the summer that proceeded his fifth year. She wore distressed jeans, Doc Martens lace up boots, a Weird Sisters t-shirt, and a black trench coat. Her hair was cycling through colors before her eyes settled questioningly upon Henry.

“Recently installed, I’m afraid.” Henry stated placating.

“Wotcha Harry!” The excited familiar voice exclaimed. “Where exactly have you installed me?”

“New home, and it is Henry now.”

“Oi! Don’t take that tone with me, Harry. You are Harry. You will always be Harry!” The voice said angrily if an artificial intelligent voice was capable of anger, which by perceived circumstance it was clearly put out. It would have been much more intimidating if her approaching him hadn’t been accompanied by her stumbling upon some imaginary obstruction before she quickly righted herself.

“Nymphadora…” Henry started, but had been automatically cut off.

“Don’t call me Nymphadora!” She stated in complete rage mode, now. Light flashing throughout the chrysoberyl causing the color within it to cycle between green, red, and the varying shades within the heart stone.

“My apologies, Nym.” Henry sighed. “We are still very much in Godric’s Hollow. This is our new home. Just rebuilt, and ready to go. Perimeter stones are laid out, and activated. Secure our home, please. One magic user authorized, and I think it’d be safe to assume you’re well aware of just who it is that I’ve authorized.”

“Security engaged. No need to get snarky.” Nym huffed before walking off, and blinking back out of existence.

Henry stepped outside the back door, and stood on the, now, finished raised and attached terrace overlooking the expanse that was his private back garden sipping on his cup of morning tea. His mind wondered, as it often does in the morning time, over what his life had become since coming back. It has been five years, now, since he first stepped on this property. The task of revitalization of the Peverell home, at first, seemed quite daunting, however he realized that time really hadn’t been a factor for him any longer. He had that in spades.

Henry’s first task was to demolish the remains of the shambles of a home which had at one time been the ancestral home for his forbearers, The Peverells: Nicodaemus and Perenelle. He could have addressed the demolition with wand and a vengeance, but he took a more conservative and pragmatic approach. That approach was repetitive and somewhat mind-numbing removing each bath stone brick, cleaning and setting them meticulously aside until that organized pile was set to one side in stacks. Slowly, the ruin of a house was reduced to beyond its foundation revealing not only a basement, but a workshop, as well.

So, another daunting task had presented itself to him just when he felt that he was on the cusp of completing the one he set for himself. Frustration gripped him, and in that moment he quickly changed into his crow form, and took off into the sky to clear his mind.

Seeing the property from a different perspective, now, Henry realized that the property for which his house had been rebuilt was indeed quite expansive, and covered one thousand acres or nearly four square kilometers. More land that he would really ever need or want to do with personally, so, up in the head winds and down drafts while he was gliding about he came up with a plan to utilize it for the long term. 

Henry noted as he flew that his property bordered an offshoot of a river to the west end of the property. Also, while a great majority of the property would make for excellent grazing for cattle, sheep and goats, there was also a wooded area to the south and west. Flying lower to get a better look into the wooded area he noted, rather interestingly, a herd of familiar skeletal winged horses within the canopy of the trees in that area. Knowing what the elder wand was made of, and seeing the Thestrals, Henry made a note to catalog the varying trees on his property at a later time.

Henry was just about ready to head back to base camp when his thoughts, and flight, were suddenly interrupted by the hauntingly melodious song of what he initially thought that it was phoenix song, like Fawkes, he was taken aback; even while in flight in his crow form when he was accompanied by an Augurey. Its plumage was not the vibrated reds and yellows, but muted grey, vibrant green and accented with violets.

Henry’s initial instincts screamed at him that this was a predator, and sent his senses into flight mode. He took off towards the trees in the hopes of losing his pursuer. This proved to be a fruitless effort, however. Whenever Henry thought that he was in the clear, perching on a limb to take a brief rest and breather, the other bird would flash in front of him, and; once again, Henry would flee. That only served to encourage his new companion to pursue him, while trilling happily in the chase. 

This battle flight of wits lasted what seemed to Henry to be hours as the Augurey chased after him mercilessly, before it finally occurred to him to make way back towards his base camp, and transform back to his human form. What Henry didn’t expect was that the Augurey had picked something up along the way.

Smack! Henry felt something come into abrupt, immediate, and painful contact with the top of his head, which caused him to lose balance and immediately come crashing to the ground blacking out. He wasn’t sure how long that had lasted. Not how much time had actually passed, but when he came back around, the first thing that he noticed was the fact that he was peering up at the sky whilst clearly on the ground. The second thing that he noticed was a pair of yellow eyes looking down upon him full of mirth. Startled, Henry immediately sat up, attempted to scurry away from his avian assailant, and felt he weight of what obviously was used by the fowl to aid in his battery, a branch of some sort.

It was at this moment in time that Henry was reminded of the contents of the basement, looked towards the storage shed in which those content had been moved, thought secured, and noticed the door wide open with the wood materials scattered haphazardly across the lawn. He knew at once whom the culprit had been. 

“Bloody flaming pidgeon!” Henry roared, pulling his wand in what he thought had been relatively speaking rather quickly only to have it immediately snatched by the offended fowl, and promptly snapped in two. Henry’s trusted Holly and Phoenix feathered wand was now lying in pieces.

“What in the actual fuck?!” Henry screamed outraged, now, and reached for the elder wand to let the menace have it when a pain surged through his head.

**_£ STOP! £_** A feminine voice quickly said seeming to come from everywhere all at once causing Henry to spin around. **_£ What are you looking for? An enemy? I’m right in front of you, silly human. £_**

Henry looked into the yellow eyes of the Augurey in front of him, now, critically. 

**_£ Did you suddenly lose your ability to convert thought to speech, Mr. Potter or is it Peverell? £_** The thoughts of the Augurey were conveyed with the aspect of a mother scolding a naughty simple child.

“Fine! Why are you here, pidgeon?” Henry finally asked, exasperatedly.

**_£ I am not a simple pidgeon, nor am I easily baited by the rantings of a child with hurt feelings because mummy suddenly decided to remove ickle baby’s favorite toy. Now, sit. £_** The Augurey demanded imperiously. ** _£ Soon that elder branch that you also wield shall be reduced to as much kindling as Fawkes’ gift to you. £_**

“Alright, mind telling me why you have it in for my wands, then?” Asked Henry.

**_£ It is really quite simple. Although you’ve been granted certain dispensation and leave to be here. Those devices cannot, and will not be allowed to exist here in duplicate. £_ **

“But…” Henry started but was interrupted by the Augurey once more.

**_£ Henry, it is simple. The component parts or your former wand already exists here, and the elder wand in its entirety, as well. You have outgrown, both, long ago. £_** The bird finished its thought and in a flash of flame was immediately at Henry’s side grasping the elder wand before again flashing away to its previous spot.

The next thing that Henry knew before he could do anything other than register the sound of strained wood, the elder wand, too, was snapped, and lie next to the previously broken wand. Henry felt heartbroken. This was the first time that he had been so completely disarmed. Not since that first time that he journeyed to Godric’s Hollow with Hermione had he been without his wand.

“Fuck!” Harry screamed in the futility for which he found himself.

**_£ LANGUAGE! £_** That lone word echoed loudly in his mind seeming to come from multiple source as much as from avian. She could see the sorrow that was clearly present in Henry’s eyes, but after a few bare moments that anguish transitioned into a resignation that there was nothing that he could do, now that the elder wand was no more. 

With a heavy heart-wrenched sigh Henry looking down at the discarded pieces of both his wands looked directly into the eyes of the Augurey before asking the obvious question. “What am I supposed to do for a wand, now?”

**_£ Simple. Get a new wand, naturally. £_** The voice of the Augurey stated, again, as if Henry was truly the simplest of creatures, and with that one statement, the bird grasped the piece of wood used for the purpose of Henry’s battery, took brief flight before grasping him as a passenger and flame-travelled to just outside Olivander’s Wand Shop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry has lunch with Perenelle.

4.

“No.“ Henry stated resolvedly, looking at the familiar doorway to Olivander’s Wand shop, before the familiar crack of apparition sounded his quick departure.

** Godric’s Hollow, Peverell Estate 11 June 1905 **

Perenelle Flamel. That was her name, and had been since she had allow Nicodaemus to gift her with it. She certainly had embodied it with her resolute unbreakable demeanor. Once she had made up her mind, there simply was no shaking her of her decision. Most of the time those decisions came out well in her favor and produced the desired results. On occasions that hadn’t turned out quite so well.

One such decision was to grant three gifts to her own sons, Cadmus, Antioch, and Ignotius. But those gifts? Everyone knows that tale. It is famous, a children’s fable, of sorts. Death granted those gifts to the three brothers Peverell. True. Death did grant those gifts, but who ever said Death was male? 

Perenelle sat perched amongst the elder trees that grew along and throughout the forest that bordered the property, now. Today was the first time that she had seen what young Henry had done with the place. She was quiet impressed with the house, and it did not go unnoticed that he had incorporated the stonework that was part of the original property.

She had been here for quite some time. She had, in fact, watched her fledgling Augurey play with Henry earlier. The young bird had hatched along with the recently named Fawkes whom Nicodaemus had gifted to his young apprentice. She intended to do the same with this one, as she felt the female was better suited to Henry. It had most certainly attempted to assert her dominance over him.

Henry appeared to be rather put out, having had not one but two wands destroyed by the young bird, and being bludgeoned by the core of wood she had hoped would make a very suitable replacement for the destroyed instruments. Perenelle was prepared to wait an hour or two for the two to return. She found herself shocked when only a short moment latter there was the familiar sound of apparition.

Henry re-appeared in the back garden of his newly rebuilt home. He approached the steps before turned and sat on the very top step. She watched and his ran his hands through his hair in a familiar way in which almost all the males of his line did when finding themselves exasperated. Honestly, she found it quite endearing, but she could see that Henry was at a level of stress that probably was not optimal to lead in with wit and sarcasm, and merited a more cautious and pragmatic approach.

She took flight from the branches of her hiding spot amidst the trees and gliding silently and gently. She noticed upon closing the distance his look of alarm at seeing a bird. He obviously had anticipated the Augurey, and not a crow, one of the two forms that both she and Henry had in common.

“Hello Henry. I confess that I wasn’t quite expecting you to return here quite this early.” Perenelle Flamel stated. It was at that moment that the Augurey reappeared in a flash of its own phoenix fire flapping its wings angrily brandish that same rather large length of ebony wood.

“Is t-that menace yours?” Henry asked angrily while pointing at his assailant.

“Well, I was rather hoping that she would find a master of her own. She’s one of two fledglings that my phoenix Danu had birthed. No two phoenixes are alight, Henry. I believe that young Master Albus has acquired the other, while this one is rather taken with you.” She replied.

“If by taken you mean taken a liking to chasing me around the property, assaulting, berating, and abducting me, well, I concede your point. She had also destroyed both of my wands.” Harry said accusingly.

“And she was trying to rectify that willful destruction of property in an attempt to replace it judging by the branch that she is carrying.” Perenelle replied.

“By taking me to Olivander’s? No thanks. I really do not need to have a wand registered with the ministry. I was only supposed to be here for a very short time, anyhow. As it stands, I am now down two tools of which, as a wizard, I’m rather fond of having at my disposal.” Henry barked back.

“Then, I suppose that we shall have to go about rectifying that by creating you a new wand since you refuse to give Gervaise the honor of doing it for you.”

“I’m sorry, Gervaise?” Henry asked.

“Olivander. Who else, his infant son, perhaps? I don’t think that young Master Garrick will be ready for his wand making apprenticeship for another sixteen years, Henry.” Perenelle admonished gently.

“Alright, how exactly do we go about creating a new wand?” Henry asked.

“First, whatever happened to the equipment that was found in the basement?” She asked.

“I placed it back into the new basement, in a workshop, upon the house’s completion.” He warily replied. 

“Then we best be off to that workshop, I should think. No time like the present.” Perenelle replied turning towards the house and setting off toward the rear entryway. She paused, awaiting Henry to catch up, and waited briefly until he opened the door and beckoned that she should enter.

As Henry led Perenelle through the back door, she found herself amazed at the home before her. It held nothing whatsoever that she could remember of the former house. It was neither gauche nor fanciful in appearance but entirely welcoming.

Another thing that she had noticed was the lack of Hogwarts house colors that she had often seen in home that she had visits of friends throughout her rather long life. The walls were painted a beige that matched the Bath stone exterior, however each room was trimmed in a brilliant white. She saw many appliances in the kitchen of which she had no idea what any of their function was, and Henry didn’t really give her much of a chance as he was deliberate with his purpose and in his destination.

She followed him across the floor through the kitchen until she noticed him approach and open a door. He reached inside flipped a switch and rather than the pale lamp light that she was familiar with in most homes of wizards or witches the room in front of them was brightly illuminated. She could clearly see the stairs that led down to the floor below, and noticed that Henry, ever the gentleman, held the door open for her indicating that she should proceed him.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry reached around the corner flipped yet another switch which bathed the room in light as well. She saw that the area was rather large, now here, as well. Not exactly the standard size for a basement. It spanned the entirety of the house and appeared to be split into three sections separated by doors which, at the moment, were all opened.

“It’ll be just to the right over there.” Henry said, motioning with his arms indicating that they should pursue that direction.

Perenelle led the way into the other room and it was there that she saw her work room completely intact just as Henry had said that it was. Everything was out in the open, and everything had been quite orderly. She clapped her hands together excitedly before turning towards Henry smiling in gratitude.

“Now this, Henry, is truly wonderful! Thank you for, both, treating my implements with and in some cases restoring them to their former glory!” She said, and Henry could see the sincerity in her manner, and words. “Shall we get started?”

“Started?” He asked, honestly curious. ‘ _Did she mean to create the wand, now?’ he wondered._

With a flash of phoenix fire, the Augurey was there presenting the shaft of ebony which it ever so gently placed upon the table. Perenelle quickly crossed the room, gathering supplies that she would need to complete the task. She had a tape measure, all manners of chisels, and a few writing pencils for which Henry had supplied, thinking that they might have been needed. 

Perenelle made her selections, gathered them up and took them to the work table was. She took the length of ebony and carefully placed it on the lathe between the spindle and the tailstock quill, and tightened it down. With a flick of her wand and a muttered spell that Henry didn’t quite hear, the wood began to spin.

“Come Henry, sit. We’ll be working on this together, and for the first part this requires a gentle hand.” Perenelle said to Henry offering him the seat.

Henry was nervous of course. There are many things that he had done in his long life, and many of them required skills that he developed. Wood working hadn’t been one of them. There really hadn’t been a need. So, ever cautious, he approached the lathe, and took a seat in front of it. He looked at Perenelle whom handed him one of the chisels for him to begin working.

“Now, I will guide you through this portion of the process. It will be rather quick. We’ll take this length of ebony and work it uniformly by using the chisel, and placing on the tool rest here.” She said, pointing towards the rest where he placed his hand.

She then took his hand, and guided the rest along the length of the wood. They did this a few times until the wood started taking shape before them. There was no need for variation as they were just making a rather large dowel of wood for making a wand.

In Henry’s opinion the length of the wood was long enough to be making a Hagrid sized wand, but he kept that to himself for the moment. Henry was utterly fascinated with the process as the rough branch, as it were, was now replaced by a solid black staff. Perenelle then eased his hands back from the wood. Stopped the wood from turning, and inspected it, looking for imperfections in the wood. She found none.

“Excellent work, Henry! Now, we will sand the wood smooth.” She said, reaching for some sandpaper, restarted the spinning, and they both took the paper and gentling worked the wood toward the middle starting from opposite ends. After going back and forth over the wood a few times they stopped the lathe again to inspect it.

At this point Perenelle pulled out the tape measure and methodically, took circumference measurements of the wood incrementally along the shaft, and seemed satisfied with the consistency. The length in total was 28 inches. This was more than enough for two wands, which unknown to Henry was what she was planning all along. The Augurey had taken two wands away, and she shall return to him what he lost.

Henry was watching her closely, now, as she took measurements of the wood. Next, she took measurements of his hands, just to be precise. She needed to make sure that the wands were a good fit. She could always take wood away, but she could not put it back. Wand making had a precision to it. This was something that buying a wand from the likes of the Olivander family’s approach of one size fits all had been lacking.

“Alright Henry, I have your measurements, now it is time for some precision work on my part. I will need some solitude for the price cuts to turn these blanks into what you will use for the forseeable future. If you do not mind terribly, please see to lunch, get to know the little phoenix, and try to bond. It should not take me more than a couple of hours minimum.” Perenelle said pleadingly.

Luckily enough Godric’s hollow was a fairly insular community. Henry had discovered just how much so because during the five years that he had spent rebuilding his, now, home he had at least kept up with his exercise regime. The folk in the village proper were not shy with casting him cautious glances as he jogged through the village. As he had done this daily, soon the cautious glances had turned to friendly ones, and eventually waves and some chats whilst he took breaks.

That being important because he initially was rather concerned with how exactly he was supposed to come about food in a preindustrial village in the west country of England. He had soon found along those jogs that his neighbors were, for the most part a community of farmers. In the center of the town there was an open market for the whole community grocer’s market for veg, a butchery where they would come to sell local meats, such as pig, mutten, chickens and eggs, and even a bakery which baked loaves of bread.

Henry, having more than enough land had planned on sowing his own seeds eventually for crops, and he had also planned on utilizing the land for grazing for beef, goats, and sheep. He was also planning on green houses, both mundane and magical. He had put these, however, on the back burner. Today, his pantry was stocked. 

He decided on a simple stew, so he gathered up onions, potatoes, carrots, turnips, and celery for the veg. He would be remiss not to have salt & pepper. Couldn’t have tasteless stew. Even the simplest seasoning aside from the veg made for better flavor. Last, butter and flour. He needed, no demanded, a rue. For the meat, he decided on mutten. 

It took him no longer that ten or fifteen minutes to get the work done of chopping and dicing while browning the meat, but the prep work was done relatively quickly, and everything was put into a dutch oven. He would allow it to get happy and cook for a couple of hours.

Not being one to leave things to the last minute, Henry made quick work of all the implements he used for food preparation, while looking out the window above the sink that looked out into the garden. He noticed that the Augurey seemed to be entertaining herself by fly back and forth past the window very much like a restless child. While the _Bloody Pidgeon_ had gotten on his nerves earlier, it never really occurred to him that it was, in fact, an actual fledgling. 

Henry dried off his hands with a towel, and walked out of the kitchen and through the back door leading towards the gardens and his avian guest. 

**_£ Took you long enough to come outside. £_** The Augurey’s voice sounded more than a little impatiently annoyed.

“Well, I’m finished with what I needed to do with lunch, now, pidgeon. What would you like to do?” Harry asked, honestly.

**_£ Well, first and foremost, I’d like you not to call me another name for a flying rat. I’m much to majestic for that. £_** The snarky Augurey replied.

“Fine, what do I call you, then?” Henry asked, honestly curious now. He never did get a former introduction to the Augurey.

**_£ I wouldn’t know. £_** She replied.

“What do you mean that you don’t know? Surely you have a name! What is it?” Henry asked, starting to get annoyed himself, now.

**_£ No, what isn’t my name, nor will it ever be. £_** The voice of the Augurey seemed to huff indignantly, now.

“Clearly, I am not understanding. What shall I call you then?”

**_£ That is entirely up to you, but if it is something that I find offensive, I will make my displeasure known. £_** Was her reply and if an Augurey could stare daggers at a human wizard, she was most certainly giving her best effort in doing so.

“Bloody pidgeon!” Harry said in exasperation, and it was the entirely wrong thing to say at that particular instant.

In a flash, the Augurey, flash traveled to him instantly and in another flash they were gone.

At approximately ten thousand feet immediately above where he had previously been standing Henry rematerialized.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!” Was his immediate response as he felt the wind rushing past him and he started tumbling through the air. He was so out of sorts, in fact, Henry had completely forgotten that he had an animagus ability that would alleviate all of his concerns about plummeting to a sudden and quite squishy demise.

**_£ Flap you moron! £_** The voice of the Augurey shouted at him, as she dove alongside him as the flat earth of his back garden was appearing to get closer and closer still.

Just a bare one hundred feet above the earth and closing fast, Henry transformed into his crow form, spread his wings and adjusted the angle adverting certain demise.

**_£ About time! Honestly, Henry, one would think you’re slow on the uptake. Good thing you’re light on the updraft! Otherwise… £_** The voice of the Augurey left the last word for clear implication.

Henry’s only reply was a rather indignant squawk as only a crow could do, but that was quickly answered by the Augurey, not with words, but with the smack of a wing.

**_£ Tag! You’re it! £_** The Augurey’s voice was full of mirth now, as she quickly made route for the forest.

_‘Oh, you are so on!’_ Harry thought and quickened his pursuit of the other bird.

As soon as Henry breached beneath the canope of greenery the real fun began. At one point, this was clearly a planted forest. As he flew within the interspersed trunks of the trees he could see that there were certain older trees that were clearly placed there by other than nature. But the underbrush and newer trees came up with lack of upkeep, and it was a true forest, now.

Henry, having previously been in hot pursuit, lost the Augurey almost as soon as he lost line of site, and try as he may he didn’t see either feather or tail of the other bird. That is not to say that he did not see evidence or presence of other manner of creature. On his first attempt to navigate under a partially fallen tree when was being supported by the trunk and branch of a neighboring tree, he had made a startling high speed face to face greeting of sorts with a herd of Thestrals in the process of eating voraciously some manner of creature that he may or may not have been about to identify a few gnashing bites earlier. The Thestrals only took a passing fancy in the interloper, because Henry managed to only just avoid crashing into them.

Just as Henry decided to abrupt fly upward and out of the forest, by his usual happenstance of luck, he collided somewhat with the Augurey tagging it before attempting to flee. Now, no longer it, as it were, he flew upwards between branches and through the cover of leaves back into the light flapping for all that he was worth.

Just as with the good luck in his life, it was never to last. From much higher up and in the path of the sun came an ungodly squawk that boomed which absolutely unnerved Henry, kicking in his innate self-preservation into overdrive. He flapped faster not until he had just made it into the garden before in mid-flight he switch forms to that of his wolf form leaping to the ground.

The sheer size of the shadow of the flying beast pursuing Henry now, did in no way any attempts on his part to make haste for his home. Leaping as only a wolf can only seconds after he had transformed into once again into his human form with the veranda inches away, but found himself slammed into his lawn by a large claw. The strike was not enough to harm him, although the creature clearly had it within its power to rip him to shreds if it was so inclined. It was the unearthly scream ahead of Henry which indeed saved his life.

“NOOOOOOOOOO! GODRIC STOP! He is my blood, and therefore off limits to the likes of you!” Perenelle scolded like a naughty child.

Winded now, and clearly bruised and somewhat battered Henry managed to turn himself over to face upward into the eyes of a massive golden griffin. Aside from the similarly colored eyes which were locked on to what it had only moments ago considered prey, Henry watched awestruck as the fierce gaze of the predator changed to that of shame. 

“Godric the Griffin? You certainly have a sense of humor in your naming convention, grandmother!” Henry wheezed, his heart pounding in his chest so hard he could feel it’s vibration in his ears, now.

“Much like me, dear Godric, here, is quite ancient Henry. Have some respect.” She ordered imperiously, looking down at him like he was a misbehaving child himself.

“Yes, grandmother.” Was Henry’s automatic reply. Pushing himself up now, and quickly turning around with the knowledge that it was probably not the best plan to have an angry griffin; one whom had just chased him down from the forest to where he now stood, at his back.

Looking at the griffin, Henry decided to take the same approach that he had once done so with Buckbeak the Hippogriff, and bowed to Godric breaking eye contact while doing his best to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal. He held this position for what seemed like forever. Finally, the griffin nodded its head in acceptance, and Henry let out a breath of relief.

“Sorry, Godric.” Henry said, and meant it.

“Henry, Godric has watched over this property and the one that the Potter family has lived on, now, for centuries. He is a treasured family friend. We’ve not lived here in quite some time, so I am sure that he was not expecting company.” Perenelle said before turning towards the griffin. “Noble Godric, my old friend, Henry is my family. Please treat him accordingly, and continue to watch out for all of them, even the wayward ones, from time to time.”

At that last statement the griffin squawked in irritation, and cocked his head to the side. He clearly didn’t like the Gaunts and that was well known to Perenelle.

“Yes, Marvolo is a bit of an arse, but he and his are still blood.” She said to the griffin before re-directing her attention to Henry. “I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite with all this chicanery. From what I smelled coming from your kitchen, I believe lunch is ready. Shall we go?”

“Good idea, yes. See you around Godric.” Henry said.

“I’ll be in right after you then. I need to have a few words in private with Godric. Please make me a bowl of that delicious smelling stew.” She said.

“Yes, of course. Henry said, as he turned towards the back door of the house, the Augurey followed after him at a reasonably safe distance.

**_£ Are you ready? £_** The voice of the Augurey asked. She had flown into the kitchen, now, and taken perch on the back of one of the chairs at the table within.

“For?” Henry asked, truly curious for the completely open-ended question that was left hanging unexpected.

**_£ To give me a name! £_** She demanded.

“I think that I would like to call you Perdita.” He said to the Augurey, now. Looking at the avian with a hopeful glance.

**_£ Born in the flames of Perdition, daughter of Queen Hermione from A Winter’s tale. I like it. Very well, you may call me Perdita. Thank you, Henry. £_** Perdita replied happily.

Henry was in the kitchen, ladling out portions of the stew into two bowls, one for himself, and one for Perenelle. He then pulled open his bread box, and cut a couple of slices of bread before placing them on the table, making trips back and forth to retrieve watch to drink, and butter. He had just able had the entire table laid out when Perenelle entered the house.

“Before all of this excitement this afternoon, I was in route to find you to let you know that I had finished your wands with exception of the cores. I believe that your friend, would be willing to part with a couple of tail feathers for that purpose.” Perenelle said, taking her seat at the table, while Henry took a seat on the opposite end.

**_£ Yes, I must insist that mine be used. So much better than that of my little brother. Please Henry? £_** Perdita all but whinged.

“She’s quite insistent about it!” Harry said with a chuckle.

“Godric, by way of apology, has offered up two tail hairs, too. We can combine the cores. Should make for a very powerful combination for you. We’ll go back down after lunch and finish them up. It really will only take a few minutes to finish them up and you’ll be back to being a wanded wizard.” Perenelle finished before tucking into the stew.

When the finished with lunch, Henry cleared the table, and asked that Perenelle take the wand cores back to her workshop in the basement while he cleaned up the dishes they had used, which only took a few moments for the glasses and bowls. He made more than enough stew to have it carry over through dinner. So, he covered the dutch oven, and placed it inside the oven to reheat for later that evening.

Henry walked down the stairs, entered the work shop, and gasped at the creation that the two of them had come up with. Sure his participation in the wand makings was minimal, but she did allow him to take part in it. What he saw, now, as the finished product, however was completely unique.

Perenelle had just finished placing the wand cores inside the capsules carved between the handle and the wand proper. Henry noticed that after she had placed the core within the handle that she had begun to screw the wand closed. 

Apparently, part of the wand making that he had missed, aside from the ornate carving was the essential carving of threads internally on the wands so that once that the cores were placed sealing them inside was rather a simple effort. The entire process of creating the wands from beginning to end was rather mundane, yet intricate work.

Having sealed both wands, now, she turned to Henry and present the both of them to him now. The wands themselves were absolutely beautiful in his mind. First, they were a perfect match for him. He gained solid red and powerful sparks upon first contact with his skin. They bonded instantly. Next, he looked them over. She had already polished them. The ebony of the wood glistened like black obsidian in the light. 

The handles were a perfect fit, as well, remembering that she had measured him so that the fit was precise. What truly mesmerized him was that the shaft of the wands were in the shape of a curving triangle which curved the length of the wood a total of three times. The truly inspiring part of this was that both wands curved identically, yet in the opposite directions. 

The hilt of each wand was a triangle as well, but it was flared outward like a flower blooming into the shaft of the wand.

The handle was simple, and comfortable. It was built custom for his hands and his hands only.

“Henry?” Perenelle asked to get his attention. He looked up from the wands, now, and locked eyes with her, and she said a pleasant calm radiating within his amethyst eyes. “Turn the wands towards your eyes. As if they’re held by an enemy. Tell me what you see.”

Henry did as instructed, and as he stared at both wands pointed at him now, he saw it. When looking at it from this angle it clearly appeared to be shaped exactly like the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. The triangle of the hilt, the circular motions of the shaft, and the slightly prolonged nation of the right perpendicular triangle nature of the length of the wand was unmistakable, and caused him to gasp.

“Happy?” She asked.

“Estatic!” He exclaimed.

“Good. I have one favor to ask of you. It is time for you to put some of those masteries that you have to the task. I have a pupil for you who needs a little guidance, and perhaps a kick in the arse. He still a little too arrogant for my liking at present time.”

“Albus?” Henry asked, now, already knowing what her answer was going to be, and her nod confirmed it.


End file.
